The Quickie
by Parker Joe
Summary: Breaking up is hard to do. And fake breakups lead to grabbing passion wherever and whenever you can.


Morgan waited in the dark. There was nothing else for him to do. And unless Ava came soon, he'd have to leave without so much as touching her.

He understood all too well how he'd gotten to this moment in his life. It was hard to believe it was only six months ago his biggest fear was losing Kiki to Michael. He saw the truth now-nothing he could have done would have made her love him the way she instantly loved Michael.

It still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Not because he harbored any feelings for her. Whatever he'd felt evaporated; unnoticed, until there was nothing but a faint white, lime-encrusted line in a forgotten glass. She'd confronted him outside Max's room, and as she bitched and snarked her hate and distain for him, Morgan had wondered if he'd ever known her at all. This was not the same girl who'd stayed up all night with him gambling. Or who'd shown up on Michael's doorstep swearing she couldn't stop thinking about him.

No, Michael had won.

Morgan had weightier issues on his mind. Julian's threats. Whether he'd had anything to do with his mother's disappearance. How long he could spy on his father without making him suspicious.

He needed Ava. She was the only person he trusted in this mess.

Finally, the faint clicking of heels signaled a woman's approach. Morgan hid in the far corner, behind a sturdy row of shelves.

The smell of her perfume announced her presence before the lights flipped on. Morgan blew out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Ava."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. "Damn it, Morgan! You scared me! What are you doin' here-"

"Here" was the gallery's basement storage room, where various pieces were held before or after shipping. There was also a bigger, heavier safe where she kept an obscene amount of cash. Every night before closing, she brought the cash she kept in a smaller safe in her office down here, along with any cash receipts. He'd ditched his dad's goon at the movie theater and entered through the loading dock with the same combination he'd learned the first week he'd been with her.

Any further protest was cut off when his lips covered hers. There was resistance at first. The shock of seeing him had left her cheeks unnaturally pale, her pulse racing unevenly, her breath shallow. Her eyelashes fluttered closed, then opened slowly, as if she expected him to vanish like a figment her imagination had conjured out of an intense longing.

When the opposite was confirmed, she submitted, returning the heat of his kiss with a hunger of her own. Her fingers ran through his hair, and she leaned into him heavily, crushing her breasts againt the solid wall of his chest.

"God, I've missed you," Morgan said between ragged breaths.

"I miss you too," she replied, running her thumb over his now bruised lower lip. "You shouldn't be here. Julian's probably having you followed. Your father too. It's dangerous."

"I know. I ditched my dad's guy. You can tell Julian I found out Duke Lavery is working with my father. That should shut him up."

"It should." Ava looked at him cautiously, sensing there was more to the bitter tone than displeasure at their forced breakup. "I should tell you. You can't show up at the apartment. If-if you were thinking about that," she added. "Julian's staying with me for the time being."

"What? Why?"

"That little red-headed bitch threw him out of the Metro Court." Ava rolled her eyes, seething at the effrontery of the move and the inconvience it was going to cause her. That would teach her not to miss.

"Olivia?"

"I doubt she thought of it herself," Ava retorted venomously. "Your father took delight in his ambush. Sitting in Julian's chair like it was some great coup d'etat."

"Some _what_?"

"Over throw. Like he'd kicked him out of his company or country. Instead of the petty, childish move it was."

"Got it-no showing up at your apartment. Maybe I should go tell him about Lavery myself?"

Ava shook her head. "He's heading to Seattle on business. He's supposed to be on the ten o'clock flight."

"Then I could come tonight," he asked pointedly.

"No," she shook her head. "It's too risky."

"Yeah...dad expects me home," he nodded regretfully. Morgan took her hand into his own and squeezed. "I need to ask you something. It's why I came. I know you'll tell me the truth."

"What?"

Morgan looked her directly in the eye. "Do you know anything about what happened to my Mom?" Ava instinctively started to pull her hand away, but he held on tightly. "I need to know. Mikey thinks Franco has her...or did something to her," he added, shaking away the picture of his brother's haunted eyes looking at that suitcase in their mother's trunk. "And Dante-he thinks it's possible. But he's never straight. He's a cop and keeps repeatin' stuff about _possible_ and _probable_ and _evidence_. He keeps talkin' in circles until I want to scream."

"What do you think _I_ know? Carly and I don't -Michael told you we fought-" she stammered. "I told you I didn't-" Ava looked into the very real fear in Morgan's eyes and knew. "Julian-he's threatened you and you think-"

"Yeah-he _said_ he didn't. But I don't trust that sonofabitch."

"You _don't_ know how right you are," Ava whispered somberly.

"He _did_ it. He's got my mom? Where?"

There was a desperation in his voice that broke her heart. But she shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Victor told me stories about his first wife. You think Julian's ruthless? She was worse. You don't make Victor Jerome's life hell by accident. But that's the past. I don't know anything about Carly's disappearance. Michael's probably right. Tumor or not-Franco is one twisted wreck of a flesh."

"But it happened within hours of Julian threatening me...her...anyone I loved."

There was a beat before Ava understood his full meaning. Directly or indirectly, Morgan feared for her.

"You're sure? You'd tell me, wouldn't you?" Morgan brought her wrist to his lips and kissed the soft skin on the inside of it.

The implication of his question made her uneasy. She had leapt to Morgan's defense more than once with Julian. Even to the point of trying to warn him the night Carlos had been given his execution orders. But outright betrayal...her sister had already paid that price. And Ava had no intention of following in her footsteps.

"There's nothing to tell you," she whispered, sidestepping the question. "I don't believe Julian knows anything about it. He's got no reason to lie to me." A look of disappointment or maybe relief came over his face. "I'm sure Dante and the PCPD are doing everything they can."

Morgan's lips twisted into a mirthless smile. "Great-so that freak Franco has her? God knows what he'll do to her. Or what he _did._"

"Don't-Franco probably stashed her somewhere trying to convince her how deep his love is. He's not going to hurt her," Ava reasoned, not sure how convincing she sounded. Morgan was about to protest, but she brought her lips up to his instead, gently trying to ease his worry.

Morgan pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "This sucks. Everything in my life sucks except for you. And I can't have you."

"You can always have me," she whispered back, winding her arm around his neck. "Always."

His lips crashed against hers-pent up frustation seeking a physical release. It was easy for her to give in. She felt it as much as he did. As cruel as life had been to her, she hadn't felt this tortured; this strained to grab something just beyond her reach.

So it felt good to have him in her arms, his lips kissing her neck, his hands roaming her body at will. She plunged headlong into the ripples of desire swirling inside her, encouraging Morgan with low, smoky moans and instinctively rubbing her body provocatively against his.

This time she openly her mouth gladly to the onslaught of his feverish kisses. His tongue demanded answering thrusts and complete submission that left her unable and unwilling to think about anything outside of this momentary bubble of sanity in their insane world.

It wasn't a surprise to feel the swell of his erection pressing against her belly, or his hands slide underneath her skirt to the naked flesh above her knees. She was ready for him, and he knew it, even before the tiny strip of lace tore and he sank first one and then a second finger into the slick fold between her thighs.

Her breath hitched, accepting the slow thrust as he circled her clit with his thumb. Ava arched against it, indistinct _oohhh_'s murmuring into his mouth as he manipulated her need into a raw, throbbing ache.

"Ava..." It was a demand and an appeal. She answered by sliding a thigh up over his hip, opening the way for a deeper, more intimate connection. Unbuttoning his fly, his dick jutted forcefully into his hand as Ava tugged the waistband of his briefs down.

Then he was sinking inside of her, her thighs gripping his hips as her feet braced against the opposite shelving unit. Bolted to the floor, they absorbed the pounding thrusts as the lovers gave into the ravenous feelings denied too long.

Ava gripped the shelf over her head, leveraging herself higher to lengthen the pistoning drive of thrusts and withdrawals. Her nipples chafed against her silk camisole and the denim of his jeans felt rough against the backs of her thighs. But all that mattered was the feeling of completion that was cresting deep in the core of her being and man steering her there.

Burying his face between her breasts, Morgan inhaled the rich scent of her perfume. Her skin was salty, her camisole clinging provocatively in spots as sweat glistened and gathered in secret. He could see her nipples straining against the material, begging for his attention. Instead, Morgan traced the line of her cleavage with his tongue, nuzzling the soft flesh as it bobbed in rhythm with his thrusts.

Ava groaned at the feel of stubble abrading the delicate sides of her breasts. Pleasure or pain was irrelevant. What mattered was Him and This and Being His. She could feel the crest rising up in him, a harsh pant vibrating against her skin as he struggled futilely against the inevitable.

Morgan gathered her ass in his hands and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. He ground feverishly against her pussy and sank his teeth deep into the mound of her breast, the urge to leave his mark on her brutish and undeniable. Ava grasped and shuddered, her body stiffening as she teetered on the edge of climax. She arched against him, stilling as he slammed home, tightening his grip on her ass and sinking his teeth deeply into her other breast.

It sent her over the edge, moaning frenzied, disconnected words that meant nothing other than she was drowning in unspeakable pleasure. Ava pulled him in with her, accepting the release that bowed his back, sputtering hotly in the slick, heated depths of her pussy.

Calmness descended; tender kisses soothed swollen lips and bruised flesh. Slowly they unwrapped one thigh from his hip, letting her toe touch softly as she loosened her grip on the sturdy shelf behind her. They remained intimately connected, lingering as their bodies cooled and his cock softened, slipping away spent from her body. Her other foot touched the ground, and her skirt slithered back into place as he pulled away and rebuttoned his fly.

"We've got to figure a way out of this. I can't go on like this. Without you."

He pressed another kiss to her lips, and he was gone.

Ava blinked back the urge to cry. Morgan was right. This wasn't working for either of them.


End file.
